


"I'm really here."

by saltydean



Series: Jack Kline Feels [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Crying Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Feels, Emotional Dean Winchester, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester Bonding, Jack Kline Feels, Nightmares, Sad Dean Winchester, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 05:42:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17637008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltydean/pseuds/saltydean
Summary: Dean seems to be having trouble coping with the fact that just a few days ago, Jack, who Dean had begun to consider a brother, had died right in front of them, and even though he's alive now, Dean doesn't want to get too attached again. Somehow, Jack being the oblivious yet considerate person he is, knows exactly what to say to make things better.





	"I'm really here."

**Author's Note:**

> this one shot contains spoilers for season 14, episodes 7 and 8 (i'm pretty sure). this takes place after jack is brought back to life.
> 
> i wrote this at like 1am so, if there are any, please excuse errors or failure of proper characterisation. 
> 
> i love how dean has grown to care about jack like a brother, so i thought i'd write this! i hope you like it!

Fear mixed with frustration and relief was what all three of Team Free Will felt when the Nephilim had come back to them. Seeing Jack lying lifelessly for what felt like forever, and then suddenly being brought back to life was something that made Sam, Castiel and Dean let out a breath they hadn’t even known they were holding. Yet, even though the kid was okay now and safe in the presence of his family, they were all still on edge. 

And even though Dean suffered like everyone else when the kid was gone and even though he was beyond grateful that the Nephilim was back, he couldn’t even bring himself to be around Jack now that he was home.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice made a presence in the library before he physically did himself. 

Dean promptly glanced up from his position at the desk, feet propped up on the table with his laptop in front.

“Hey,” Dean mumbled, eyes landing back on the quietly playing Scooby Doo episode on his laptop.

“I just checked on Jack,” Sam spoke picking up the book he had been reading for the past few days. 

With his face and posture remaining the same, the older of the Winchester brother’s eyes moved up to meet with Sam’s before going back to his screen.

”You know he asks about you, right?” Sam raised an eyebrow, finally gaining attention from his older brother. 

All Dean said was, “so?” in response, unaware of what relevance this was supposed to have to him. 

“So are you going to see him?” 

“D’you see the location mom sent?” Dean changed the subject without hesitation, and Sam frowned.

“What’s up with you, man?” Sam frowned, partially in disbelief at Dean’s behaviour. 

Dean shrugged, and his voice nonchalant, almost like he didn’t care that the kid had died and come back to life when he answered. “Nothing.” 

Sam shut Dean’s laptop that he’d so intently been staring at. Like whatever he was watching was so important, when in reality, Dean was just pretending not to pay attention to his brother.

“Jack DIED, Dean.” Sam sighed, “and I know you’re having a tough time facing it... but he’s alive now.”

“Just leave it, Sammy,” Dean ran his hand over his face, a tired look washing over his face. 

“No, Dean. He keeps asking me and Cas why you hate him again.”

Dean made eye contact with his brother for a solid minute before looking away once again. Sam’s eyes were filled with empathy for Jack, as usual. 

“He’s just a kid. He‘s not gonna realize that this is just you coping. He really, genuinely thinks you hate him and no one can change his mind but you.” Sam knew more than anyone else what it felt like to feel hated or to feel like he was a disappointment to someone he cared about. 

For a minute, Sam looked away, pushing away the memories of Metatron and the trials.

Dean hated the fact that while Sam and Cas were constantly keeping an eye on Jack, walking by his room every two minutes like a routine to make sure that he was sleeping safe and sound. 

Sure, though he’d never admit it, when everyone was asleep at night and Dean wasn’t lucky enough to close his eyes without having thousands of thoughts about all the crap that’s happened, he’d press his ear behind Jack’s door until he heard soft breaths that assured him that the kid was okay.

Yet, even though he was aware of his own actions, he hated himself for it. He hated that he couldn’t look at the kid without seeing him die all over again. It was like when Cas or Sam died and even months later, it still felt like it was just yesterday. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing his little brother dying in his arms or Cas being stabbed by Lucifer and lifelessly collapsing onto the floor, over and over again. And now Jack... Just weeks ago he couldn’t stand the kid, but now he was losing sleep over him. 

“Look, Sam-“ 

Dean stopped his line of defense when he saw a mop of light brown hair stick out from behind the wall. 

“Hey, Jack.” 

Suddenly, the flock of hair disappeared for a moment and the two brothers just stared, a sympathy on Sam’s face. Dean struggled to keep any sight of guilt or care on his face.

Soon, after Jack had recollected himself from the slight shock of being caught, he stepped out from hiding and slowly walked toward the two men.

“I’m gonna... go,” Sam stood up, patting Jack’s shoulder as he walked passed him, heading to his room and called out, “goodnight.”

Dean watched his brother walk away, shaking his head in disgust at the set up he’d thrown at him. He had almost forgotten that the boy was awkwardly standing in front of him, but then Jack coughed into his hand, wincing a tiny bit.

“You should go to sleep, kid.”

Like the obedient boy he was, he slowly turned around, shoulders unknowingly slumped as he started to shuffle back to the hallway he had come from.

“Wait,” Dean grunted, running his hand over his face and sighing. “I don’t hate you, alright? And I never will.”

If Dean didn’t hate him, why did he act so much colder than Sam and Cas acted toward him?

“Then why-“

“When I was 4, my mom died.” 

Jack’s once parted lips were now firmly pressed together.

“Then my dad died. And then Sam. Jo, Ellen, Charlie Bobby- they all died.” Dean’s voice was deep and raspy, his eyes barely connecting with Jack’s. “But every time, Sam came back. And then Mom. And Bobby and Charlie.” 

Dean shook his head, groaning. “Forget it, kid. You wouldn’t understand.”

“People you care about keep dying... and you don’t want to get attached.” Jack declared, despite the uncertainty of whether his statement was right.

And then Dean looked up at the kid, slightly dumbfounded. 

“I’ve lost people too.” 

Dean frowned, looking down at the floor for a few seconds in realisation that he’d forgotten how much the kid had gone through already. Jack had known his mom before he was even born— he loved her. She was dead now, though. 

“I see them die all over again,” Dean said admittedly. “I see YOU die all over again. Sometimes, I wake up and think you’re just a hallucination. It’s like a nightmare that never ends.”

Dean broke eye contact, looking up at the ceiling until he felt the wetness that formed in his eyes disappeared. 

“But hey, that’s my life, right?” His voice was frisky and his face was playful, but it didn’t hide the pain and the mourning.

Dean didn’t even notice the hand that was slowly reaching over to him until he felt a small but painful pinch on his arm. If Dean didn’t personally know the kid and his difficulty with social cues, he’d think the content smile on Jack’s face was one of a psychopath’s.

“What the hell was that for?!” Dean’s hand gripped onto his bicep, confused at the kids' strange action.

“You’re not dreaming.” Jack still had a genuine smile on his face.

“What?” Dean looked at the kid like he was crazy.

“When I get scared or think I’m having a bad dream, I pinch myself to make sure that I’m not,” Jack explained, his kind and happy nature still present in his voice. “That way I know that I know that whatever I’m afraid of isn’t real.”

The expression of shock soon subsided in realisation of what Jack was getting at. Though it was just a tiny bit, some of the anxiety at the pit of his stomach was replaced by a form of warmth.

With a soft, reassuring smile, Jack promised, “you’re not dreaming, Dean. I’m really here.”


End file.
